


Wilting

by MagicianChant



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-27 23:48:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19800307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicianChant/pseuds/MagicianChant
Summary: “I don’t know what’s happening to me,” Will says, pawing at his throat. The coughing fits start again, even more violent than before. “I can’t get it out of my lungs.”Alana flinches, taken aback when she sees something come out of Will’s lips and into his hands, spilling to the floor. The red is so bright that for a moment she confuses them with some sort of crystalized blood, and she barely manages to avoid gasping when she realizes that that which is overflowing from Will are flower petals. Bright red, no bigger than half an inch. Soft, she thinks, and suddenly realizes her hand is extended towards Will, not to comfort him but to convince herself that real, actual flower petals are falling from his mouth.Or, Will Graham's feelings for Hannibal are trying to kill him.





	Wilting

“I don’t know what’s happening to me,” Will says, pawing at his throat. The coughing fits start again, even more violent than before. “I can’t get it out of my lungs.”

Alana flinches, taken aback when she sees something come out of Will’s lips and into his hands, spilling to the floor. The red is so bright that for a moment she confuses them with some sort of crystalized blood, and she barely manages to avoid gasping when she realizes that that which is overflowing from Will are flower petals. Bright red, no bigger than half an inch. Soft, she thinks, and suddenly realizes her hand is extended towards Will, not to comfort him but to convince herself that real, actual flower petals are falling from his mouth. 

The next thing Alana knows is that they are in an ambulance, flying through traffic while a paramedic tries to stabilize Will. He keeps coughing, and soon his shirt is stained red. She wants to say something, but the shock of seeing Will affected by the hanahaki disease is dumbfounding. She had heard of it, of course, everyone had, but seeing it first hand is a different thing.

Once Will is stable, they are taken to a doctor’s office. There is a vase with flowers next to the door, and Will feels nauseous. The doctor keeps going over and over Will’s file, and sighs. She’s seen other cases like this, she says, and Will needs to make a decision now. 

“Of all the diseases I could’ve contracted in the field,” he says. “My body had to start growing flowers inside my lungs.”

“Maybe if you talked about your feelings more often,” the doctor says, unamused over Will’s comment. “Maybe then your body wouldn’t be forcing you to confront yourself.”

The doctor then goes on and on about how his lungs will be filled with flowers if he doesn’t do something soon, how he will be unable to breathe in a couple days—a week, tops–and how there are two courses of action: either he tells whoever he has to tell, or he gets his chest open and the flowers extracted from. She finally stands up, and announces that she’s giving them room to make a decision. She exits, and the room remains silent for a couple of minutes.

“If—If I am responsible, in anyway,” Alana begins, taking a step towards him. 

“This isn’t about you, Alana,” Will scoffs. 

She is taken aback for a second. She doesn’t know whether to feel insulted over how disdainful Will’s voice sounds, or to just be flustered because of how much overthinking went towards the kisses they shared what feels like an eternity ago. And then it hits her: the late visits, the shy smiles, the way Will would purposefully stand next to Hannibal and almost, almost lean into him. 

Her brow furrows and then softens, “Will,” she begins and immediately stops. There’s nothing she can say that would make the growing inside his lungs less painful.

“I don’t need your pity,” he still hasn’t looked at her. She knows he won’t. Will combs his hair back, as if that would help him breathe, and Alana sees his hands shaking.

“Is this going to kill you?” she asks. She already knows the answer, but she waits for Will to say something.

“Not if I get it removed. Not if I get it out.”

“You do realize that removing them will also…” she begins, uncertain of whether she should continue or not.

“I don’t care. It feels like I’m drowning, Alana.”

By now they are both exasperated with each other. Alana wants to fight Will over this. Over removing them without trying something else. She worries this will hurt him far more than he can imagine. 

“You should tell him,” she ventures.

“That won’t be necessary,” Will says. 

Alana sighs. She knows she won’t be able to convince Will to think this over. Maybe Jack will be more successful than her. She stands up, says bye to Will’s back, and as soon as she gets her phone out of her bag, she dials Jack’s number. He says he’ll be there as soon as possible. 

When Jack gets to the hospital, Will has already been giving a private room and a white gown. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at the red stains in the palms of his hands. Jack approaches him, and starts talking about how he shouldn’t be so reckless.

“Just take it out!” Will screams between coughs. “I want it out. I need it out. Please,” this last part is barely a whisper, and yet it manages to shake Crawford to his core. Jack sighs, and for a moment considers giving Will a hug. He realizes that would only be a comfort to himself.

“Okay,” Jack turns his back on Will and exits the room, finally allowing him a moment to break down and double over himself, the river of petals and blood overflowing and covering the floor. 

The next person to enter the room is a nurse carrying a lot of paperwork, and Will signs everything without even looking. There’s no point in thinking over the situation. There’s no point in fantasizing what a future in which he’s able to hold Hannibal’s hand would be like. He just needs this to be over. He just wants to be able to breathe again. 

It takes him two weeks after the surgery to go back to work. His throat and his lungs will still take a while to heal, but there’s no trace of the flowers anymore. He feels empty except for a certain kind of sadness that’s coiled on top of something else. He refuses to name that small, pitiful thing.

“Look who’s finally back,” says Katz. She sounds truly happy to see him back. “That sore throat almost killed you, huh? You’ve been gone for a long time.”

“It almost did,” Will barely manages to say, and at once he knows no one believes he’s been out for something as simple as throat problems. He also knows everyone will try to behave at their best and just speculate as soon as he’s out of the room. He’s thankful.

“Welcome back, Will,” says Hannibal, smiling at him. Will is pointedly avoiding standing next to Lecter, but he can picture his smile perfectly. He no longer feels pain or the need to cough, but there is a numbness that goes from his hair to his toes. He’s thankful for that, too.

“Doctor Lecter,” Will says, and nods at him. He takes a deep breath and turns to Jack. “Shall we begin?”


End file.
